


Blackheart's

by sksdwrld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Tease, Frottage, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Modeling, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Rough Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 13,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackheart's is a new, upscale menswear shop that Harry frequently passes on his way home from work. The racy storefront ads catch his eye when they begin to feature Draco Malfoy, and Harry finds his attraction is undeniable. An arc/ series of drabbles: Originally penned for HD_Holidays, they start holiday centric and later become a monthly installment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Yourself

Draco Malfoy was an arrogant, narcissistic fuck, and the window-sized advertisement in front of Blackheart's Men's shop wasn't helping to prove any different. 

Lying on a bed of red rose petals, his pale, naked torso covered with naught but crimson lip prints, white blond hair tousled as if he'd been shagged silly....and those eyes... 

Heavy lidded, slate grey, flickering down in assessment, nearly closing in a lustful swoon as he writhed on the flowers moments before his hand came up and he blew a kiss that rained pink and red hearts on any witch or wizard who stopped long enough, entranced by the decadently beautiful model in the store-front poster. Harry flicked the third round of glitter from his hair, the hearts disappearing before they hit the ground. 

"This Valentine's Day, Love Yourself!" The poster commanded. How appropriate. The narcissistic fuck. 

This advertisement sure as hell wasn't going to lure Harry Potter into an overpriced menswear shop that flaunted tailored scraps of fabric. No. He was going straight home. He stared down forlornly at his right hand. Yes, he was going straight home. 

To love himself.


	2. Getting Lucky

Harry really needed to change the route he took home from work every day. It routinely carried him past Blackheart's Men's shop, which had just set out it's posters for St. Patrick's Day. The one in the main window featured a head shot of the now infamous Draco Malfoy, coquettishly crooking his finger and licking his lips at passersby, encouraging them to enter the shop. It's by-line read: 

Blackheart's Can Help You Get Lucky This St. Patrick's Day... 

Fuck. It had been some time since Harry had gotten lucky with anything other than Rosy Palm and her five sisters. He had wanked to Blackheart's Valentine's poster for nearly a month, and still, it wasn't getting old.

Just beyond the door, Harry could see another poster, and he'd be damned if it was poised just enough to be incompletely visible from the street. Alright, it seemed Blackheart's was finally going to lure him inside. With interest piqued, Harry pushed through the door, embarassed at the little jangle it gave to announce his presence.

Luckily, the salesman only smiled and nodded in his direction, and didn't interfere with Harry's abling gait that brought him to stand infront of the second Malfoy poster. In this one, Draco was again shirtless, this time in torn white jeans that were heavily grass stained. He crawled on his hands and knees, rather predatorily, Harry might add, toward him through a field of clovers-nay, four leaf clovers. At the end, he sprawled and rolled in them, eyes on the viewer the entire time. 

Blackheart's new fragrance, Four Leaf, will entice even the most distant suitors. For limited time only!

Dear Merlin. Dear, sweet, Merlin. Harry didn't even have to close his eyes to imagine Draco Malfoy on his hands and knees for him. It was all there in the photo. He shifted uncomfortably at the tightening in his trousers, and stuffed his hand into his pocket where he could rub his thumb against his growing length. 

Then, he stole a furtive glance around the store. It was mainly unoccupied, with the exception of the smiling clerk. Suddenly, Harry's hand flashed out and he grabbed the item of clothing nearest him. He held it up with an awkward smile and caught the clerk's eye.

"Can I get a dressing room?"


	3. Down and Dirty

Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look.... Harry warned himself and kept his head down on his way past Blackheart's. Why was it that he kept forgetting to plot a different route?

Oh wait. His head snapped up. Did he just see something about "dirty boys" out of the corner of his eye? Well now, how could he NOT stop for that?

The St. Patrick's Day posters were gone, and in their place were two new posters.

The first had Draco Malfoy (forget sodding. These days he was anything but) in tight blue jeans, caked in mud to the mid-thighs. He was on his knees in a puddle, and smeared a handful of cakey-dirt up his torso, one hand continuing up to smudge it over his right cheek and then through his hair, standing it on end. He looked absolutely ferral, and absolutely fuckable. 

"Blackheart's Welcomes Dirty Boys". Harry flushed. He felt like a dirty boy, especially after what he'd done on the most recent holiday. Not even waiting until he was home....shameful!

The poster-Malfoy looked pointedly at Harry, and then with an amused smirk, flicked it's muddy fingers at the second poster.

How could Harry not look at the second poster?

This one portrayed Malfoy sitting in a pristine claw-footed porcelain tub, bubbles up to just below his pink nipples. Squeaky clean hair tousled into a shampoo mohawk. He lifted a handful of bubbles up and blew them toward Harry, then flinched when three droplets of mud splattered his cheek. With a glare toward Dirty Draco, he heaved a handful of water up, splashing him. 

"Come on in to Blackheart's for our new line of bathproducts sure to clean even the dirtiest of boys..." The poster promised.

If Harry closed his eyes, he could imagine the posters continuing their fight. The dirty Draco drawing clean Draco over into the mudpuddle, and wrestling him until they were both filthy and panting. Then perhaps the once clean-Draco would invite dirty Draco into his bath and they'd have a go....The first time the premise of two Malfoy's had ever seemed enticing....

Harry drew his shoulders up. That's it, forget walking home. There was a problem with his trousers that precluded walking, anyhow. He disapperated with a crack, leaving two smirking Malfoy's to flick mud and splash one another.


	4. Clean as a whistle

"Harry!"

"Er, what?" Harry shook his head and looked askance at Ron.

"I said, 'Don't you think Malfoy's the biggest pillock you ever met? I mean, look at the way he's faffing about that advertisement..."

Yes, look at it. That was what had Harry off in fantasy land in the first place. 

"Blackheart's First Annual Spring Cleaning Sale!" Malfoy, in the shortest, tightest pair of denim cut-off's he'd ever seen, a green shirt that could have been painted on, and yellow rubber gloves. He was on his hands and knees, arse high in the air and wagging side to side as he polished the floor with a brush. Just the perfect position for Harry to come up behind him and rub his aching cock into the cleft of his arse... 

"Half off all your favorites!" The poster promised, and on cue, Draco sat back on his heels, smirked broadly, and stripped the shirt off, throwing it toward the viewer. The shirt covered the poster, which resumed announcing the spring cleaning sale before queueing back to Malfoy. On his hands and knees...

"I mean, who cleans like that?!?!"

Yes, who indeed? Harry knew there was no way Malfoy did any of his own cleaning, and in fact, the photo-shoot was probably the first time he'd ever touched a cleaning supply on his own. But who cared? That visual was bloody priceless, and Harry was going to treasure it, forever!

"And who in their right mind thinks posters like that are going to make any sane wizard want to shop there? I mean, if it were a girly shop, fine. But they sell clothes for blokes!"

Harry's face began to pink. "As a matter of fact, Ron, I bought these socks in there just last week!" He tugged up the hem of his trousers to reveal a pair of black dress socks, dotted with small, green dragons. One would really only notice that they were dragons if one were up close.

"Socks?" Ron's mouth hung agape. "You bought socks, of all things, at Blackheart's? Why?"

Because my hands were starting to chafe! Harry bit back his response and managed a sheepish shrug.


	5. Say Yes to Carrots

If Malfoy rubbed that ruddy carrot up his naked torso and over his lips one more time, Harry was going to go completely spare.

But of course, the blond bastard did it...slid the tip of the vibrant orange vegetable from where his impossibly low slung waistband started, up to circle his belly button, and continued up his midsection. He shifted it slightly so the the side of the carrot rolled up his throat and then he pulled the entire root along his sultry and devine looking lips... 

Draco liked to tease him this way...or maybe it was just Harry torturing himself. After all, he had been staring at the new Blackheart's advertisement for going on ten minutes, and the bloody thing was on a permanent loop. 

Say Yes to Carrots! Blackheart's Super Rich Carrot-Infused Body Butter will leave you feeling amazing, naturally!

Forget Blackheart's, Harry had half a mind to swing by the grocer's next... Ron had been right, these adverts were impossibly risque and over the top, and he began to question the effects they were having on him.

"Like what you see, Potter?" Harry had just been about to leave when a familiar voice purred into his right ear.

For half a moment, Harry thought he had gone spare, and that the poster was now addressing him. But then of course he realized that the more logical scenario was that Malfoy was standing behind him.

Dear, sweet, fucking Merlin, behind him!?! Harry jumped nearly out of his skin and turned, face purpling almost as dark as the head of his cock surely was.

Malfoy was clothed much more properly than he ever had been in any of his Blackheart's posters; wearing a trim v-necked black shirt that clung to him as if he'd showered in it and fitted grey and black pinstripe trousers. His hair was shoved back from his face and held in place by a pair of expensive looking, Muggle sunglasses. His arms were folded across his chest, and there was that smirking look he was so familiar with...

"Oh, come off it!" Harry managed.

"Been standing there long enough." Came Malfoy's observation.

"Er, yeah." Harry was forced to admit. "These posters are getting out of hand, and I-."

Draco snorted and let his eyes flicker to the obvious bulge in Harry's pants. "If your trousers are too tight, Potter, you could always have them tailored.

Harry's face darkened and he crammed his hands in his pockets. "I was trying to figure the best way to lodge a complaint."

"Well," Malfoy licked his lips and leaned forward. "Maybe," The corners of his mouth twitched up smugly. "You should take it up with the management."


	6. It's Raining Men, Hallelujah!

Harry was sitting in an elegantly decorated office. His hands were folded in his lap and he tried not to twiddle his thumbs. A week ago, he'd gotten a letter from Blackheart's management indicating that they'd gotten word of his disappointment with their ads, and wouldn't he come in so they could make things right? He didn't have much of a choice, and secretly, he cursed Malfoy for opening his big mouth. Of course, they were running behind that day, so he'd been ushered into the office, where he'd been sitting now for going on twenty minutes.

Finally, the door busted open, and Harry half-turned to see the person he'd be telling his tale of woe to. His jaw just about hit the floor. Malfoy sloshed in scowling and shovelling his hair back from his face. He was wearing a white v-necked shirt and white linen pants. Both were drenched and sopping wet, and stuck to his body like a second skin. The fabric was thin and and Harry could see pale flesh easily through the damp cloth. Naturally, his eyes flickered to Draco's groin, which was covered with a well-fitting, Slytherin green thong. He barely contained a groan, and his cock came roaring to attention.

"M-Malfoy?!?" Harry managed to stammer. "What are you doing here?"

Draco grinned devilishly and peeled off his shirt, slinging it on to the floor by Harry's feet. "Draco Malfoy, owner-operator, and head model of Blackheart's. Pleasure to meet you..."

Harry's mouth worked open and closed, wordlessly.

Draco started to peel off his soaking wet trousers. "It has come to my attention that a very dissatisfied customer wanted to make a formal complaint against our advertisements..."

Harry could only stare and wonder if he were dreaming.

"I apologize for my tardiness...Our latest photoshoot ran late, you see. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience..."

"You're wet..." Harry observed, far too late in the game for his own good.

"Yes," Draco drawled, leaving his clothes in a heap and crossing to a wardrobe that Harry hadn't noticed, removing a sweater and proceeding to towel himself off with it. "This April at Blackheart's, it's Raining Menswear..." he explained, using what was likely the new slogan. 

Harry's eyes were glued to the perfectly rounded globes of Malfoy's arse as he bent to dry his legs, a thin strip of material dividing them and barely containing a heavy sac behind them.

The model straightened and crossed to stand infront of Harry. "Well, how about it, Potter?" He smirked down at Harry's stunned expression. "Got something to take up with the management, or did you want to hold it against me, personally?"


	7. High and Dry

When Harry, in a nervous fluster, had hastily disapparated from Draco Malfoy’s office, the last thing he expected was personal correspondence. In fact, he figured that this would be the end of their interactions, altogether. But no, Malfoy couldn’t let things go, always had to have the last word. Which is why nearly a month later, and after changing the route he took home from work, and avoiding the down-town area at all costs, Harry received a letter one Saturday afternoon. 

 

 

Dear Potter,

 

 

I should be insulted after the way you left me, high and dry. However, I have to admit that your ongoing infatuation with me (and don’t think I don’t know about it…) has piqued my interest, and thus I will excuse your childish behavior this once. 

 

I seem to have offended you with my forward nature. Please accept these three proofs from my recent photo shoot as restitution. I look forward to finding out which one is your favorite… if you’ve got the bollocks to deliver it in person, I’ll make it the window front advert in my shop.

 

 

Come and get it!

 

D

 

 

Harry had read the note at least twenty times since receiving the package from a snowy white owl. He had not yet allowed himself to look at the 8 x 10 glossy prints tucked behind the parchment, but he didn’t have the self control to deny himself any longer. The paper slipped to the floor, and Harry lifted the first glossy to eye-level before laying it down on the table-top. He shifted his tea out of the way-it was cold anyway; and made room for the second and third photos.

 

As Harry shifted his eyes over the proofs, it was became clear to him what next month’s slogan was:

 

Clothing that looks just as good on the man as it does on the floor….. Blackhearts.

 

It also became clear to him that Draco Malfoy was a sneaky, conniving, manipulative little sod…albeit, a beautiful one. 

 

The entire series looked like it had been shot in a cheap Muggle motel. The first proof was clearly focused on a pair of charcoal trousers, artistically strewn on the floor to show the fishbone weave pattern. A little ways away was a soft-green shirt, doffed over the edge of a cracked, beige leather armchair. The curled wisp of a tie lay further back, hazy, and close to the door. Lastly, there was the unfocused silhouette of a fit blonde bloke, obviously Malfoy, displaying his bare back end to the viewer as he braced himself in the doorway, fingers curling around the top of the door frame. The model shifted his weight onto the other foot, causing the tilt of his hips to switch directions. Harry swallowed thickly and let his fingertip trace a line down the curve of Malfoy’s spine. Fucking tease, that’s what he was.

 

Harry’s eyes flickered to the second shot. Malfoy’s hunched body nearly filled the entire frame. He was sitting in a tangle of sheets, a fistful of them pulled over and barely covering the state of his affairs…his elbows were propped on his knees and his arms crossed haphazardly. A slim plume of smoke curled up from the lit end of a cigarette, balanced precariously between his first two fingers. There was a pair of navy blue trousers with white pinstripes crumpled on the floor near his feet, and beside a pair of newly polished looking Oxfords. But it was his face that made the picture, the way the lighting played off his angular features and tousled hair, giving him an edgy look. Giving him an air of ferocious deviance. Just when Harry was wondering if the cigarette was real, Malfoy took a pull off of it and blew the smoke at him…. The scene made it look like Malfoy had just had an entirely satisfying one-off, but that he was not opposed at the idea of having another one… Harry licked his lips. Maybe that was just his imagination going into over-drive.

 

The last glossy was another close up, this one showing Malfoy from mid-torso up. His arms were flung over his head, crossed at the wrists, fingers curled ‘just-so’. His pale chest was dotted with flushed spots, and the redness crept up the sides of his neck and over his cheek bones. He had a serious, ‘don’t stop fucking me’ look that had Harry reminding himself to breath after a minute. And just when Harry was wondering what the hell this picture had anything to do with selling clothes, Malfoy dragged one arm down and out of the shot, and rolled his head to one side. It then became clear that he was lying on a number of articles of clothing, including, at the bottom corner, the very edge of something that looked suspiciously familiar, like the green scrap of material Malfoy had dared to pass off as skivvies the last time Harry had seen him….

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and became suddenly aware that he was idly stroking himself through his trousers. He snatched his hand away and his own face grew red. With a fluster, he mashed the pictures back into a messy pile and shoved himself back from his seat. He stepped and nearly slipped on the parchment, and bent angrily to pick it up. He slammed the paper down on top of the photos, finally hiding Malfoy’s close up. Before he could storm away, his eyes fell on Malfoy’s parting words.

 

Come and get it!

 

That arrogant, narcissistic fuck… Harry snatched up the parchment and the photos in one hand, and reached for his wand with the other. Come and get it, indeed….

 

CRA-AACK! Harry was gone.


	8. Trying it on for size

Harry blew through the doors of Blackheart’s as if they were made of nothing more than straw. Forget that it was after-hours, and Draco was leaning over the counter with Pansy and the clerk that always seemed to be tending register when Harry was there.

 

The clerk opened his mouth and put a hand up to stop Harry, but Pansy elbowed him.

 

“Potter!” Malfoy smiled sweetly and straightened. “Got my owl, I see.”

 

“You!” Harry sputtered, and Malfoy merely blinked. Harry slammed down the photos and reached across the counter. He took firm hold of Malfoy’s slim black tie and pulled him halfway across the glossy marble top. “You…pompous, arrogant, narcissistic, conceited, presumptuous, pretentious, egotistical berk!” 

 

Malfoy smirked. “That was quite the mouthful, Potter. But you forgot cavalier, supercilious, haughty, and vain…” He ticked each word off on a long, slender finger. Pansy and the clerk snickered.

 

Harry gave one sidelong glance to them before his gaze flickered back to Draco. “Your office, now.”

 

“Certainly.” Draco’s grin widened and he tugged his tie out of Harry’s grasp, then straightened and smoothed one hand down the front of himself. He too sent a glance toward Pansy, then lifted his chin and marched out from behind the counter. “So,” he drawled, letting the door shut behind them both. Each of them drew their wands and pointed it toward the door. Draco conceded, bending slightly at the waist, and set his wand on the desk top, allowing Harry to finish the silencing spell. In the meanwhile, he loosened his tie. “You didn’t say which of the posters you liked best…

 

Harry grunted noncommittally.

 

“Oh, come now.” Draco said, drumming his fingers on the top of his desk and pouting. “Surely there was at least one of them you liked? Should I…” He let his sentence trail and arched a brow, looking devilish as he methodically began taking down the buttons of his shirt. “Give you a little reminder?”

 

Harry licked his lips and his breath caught in his throat.

 

“You know how they look on me…” Draco slid gracefully out of his shirt, held it at arm’s length for a moment, and then deliberately let it drop at Harry’s feet. “How do they look on the floor?”

 

Draco’s eyes seemed to glint. Harry looked to the floor and nudged the expensive fabric with the toe of his shoe. Then, in one swift motion, he had grabbed Draco’s bare shoulders and shoved him up against the wall.

 

“Get your pants off,” Harry growled. “I’ve got something else you can try on for size…”


	9. Pants on Fire

Draco’s camel-colored trousers were bunched around his ankles. To Harry’s delight, there had been no pants to speak of. And although, he might have enjoyed tearing away the sort of flimsy scraps of fabric that Draco had played at using to cover himself in the past, this time, they only would have slowed him down.

“Fuck….Merlin….Potter…” Draco disjointedly gasped into his ink blotter. There was an array of scattered quills and splattered inkpots on the floor surrounding Draco’s desk, and beyond that, a chaotic array of paperwork and photographs. That had all happened when Harry jerked him away from the wall and flung him face first and haphazardly toward the desk, leaving Draco to flail and clear a way for himself, or risk being impaled by office supplies.

Harry still had Draco’s hips in a vice-like grip, and he was breathing hard into the man’s ear, though the piston-motion of his hips had stopped nearly two full minutes before, having culminated in the greatest orgasm Harry could ever remember achieving. Draco squirmed beneath him. “Don’t…move…” Harry breathed.

“You’re crushing me, you great, sodding, idiot.” Draco grunted. 

Harry huffed and thrust his softening length forward inside of Draco one last time, then pulled out with a slick sound.

“Oh, sweet Salazar Slytherin,” Draco breathed, gripping the edges of the desk to keep himself on top of it, lest his legs give way and he pool to the floor in the same manner as the shirt he’d cast at Harry teasingly some minutes, or possibly hours before. A trickle of warm fluid leaked from his loosened and sore hole and made it’s way down the inside of his thigh, causing him to shudder slightly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sit tomorrow,” He lamented breathily.

The zip of Harry’s fly was audible. “Send me another set of ads, you bloody tosser, and I’ll make sure you don’t sit for a week.”

Draco had difficulty forming a response, and Harry took his leave before he was properly able to do so, slamming the door rather effectively on his way out. After another minute, Draco peeled himself off his desk. He eyed the sticky mess splattered across his desktop calendar, and rendering illegible his appointments during the week of May 30th.  
“Pans! Pansy!” He hollered, the summoned his wand. She had just stuck her grinning face through the door when he finished cleaning the spunk off of himself. His office was still in sad shape.

“Draco?” She looked entirely bemused. 

“Get your arse on June’s adverts. Make sure they say something about Harry Potter endorsing us.”

"Right away,” Her grin grew broader, more devilish, and she eyed Draco and his state of affairs.

Draco bent to drag his trousers back up around his bruising hip bones. He fastened his belt buckle perfunctorily.“And make sure they’re the damned most risqué things the wizarding world has ever seen…” 

Pansy snorted with absolute delight. “I’m on it!” She closed the door and left her boss friend looking quite flustered in the middle of his messy office. She grinned at the clerk on the way back to the front desk. “Why that git doesn’t just send bon-bons and love letters like anyone else has got me, but, Salazar, I certainly do love a challenge…”


	10. You Bet Your Broomstick!

When Harry got to the office, his secretary handed him a stack of letters and gave him the dirtiest look he'd ever received from her. He frowned and accepted the pile.

"There's more in your office," She gave a sharp jerk of her head. "Been taking owls for you all morning...of all the days to floo in late, really Mr. Potter..."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in confusion, but he thanked her nonetheless, and made his way to his office. As soon as he arrived, several howlers burst open and began screaming. Between them all, he could only make out a few words, like "indecent", "poor role model" and "of all the nerve!". They made a lovely pile of shredded paper on his floor when they were finished.

As Harry tried to consider what it was that he had done to fall into public scrutiny, Ron burst through the door. "Mate! Of all things...Blackheart's? I didn't think you were so strapped for cash..."

"Wait, Ron, what???" The last time Harry had set foot remotely near Blackheart's was the day he'd lost his temper and stormed over there to give Draco a piece of his mind. He'd ended up giving him another bit of himself altogether, an action he both regretted, and would remember fondly for the remainder of his life.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't know!?" Ron breathed.

"Know what?" Harry frowned. "What's going on at Blackheart's? Why have I gotten so many letters?" He held up a pile of unopened parchments.

His genuine look of confusion prompted Ron to take him by the arm and drag him out of the office. They ignored a number of gawkers as they made a hasty departure to one of the floo's. "You've got to see for yourself then...I can't wait to watch you pummel Malfoy."

"What does Malfoy have to do with-" before Harry could finish his statement, Ron dragged him into the floo, and on the other side, disapparated them both to the front of Blackheart's.

When Harry's world stopped spinning, and after he'd given Ron a dirty look for transporting him twice without so much as a warning, he focused his eyes on the storefront.

Does Harry Potter Shop at Blackheart's? The sign read, showing Harry happily waving a pair of blue y-fronts with white trim in the air. The picture had been modified from it's original, in which Harry had been eagerly raising the Quidditch cup after leading team Gryffindor to victory in his final year at Hogwarts. The poster flickered to the next scene.

You bet your broomstick! Draco was naked and straddling the latest edition of the Firebolt. The angle and his clver hand-placement prevented the public from seeing all that he had to offer, but only just barely. And the way the broomstick curved up between his legs was more than a crude allegory. It was obscene. Obscene, attractive, heart-stopping...and OBSCENE!

Harry spluttered and tried to find words, any words at all, to express himself. "MALFOY!" He finally raged, curling his fingers into tight fists.

The door of Blackheart's swung open on cue, and an incredibly smug-looking Draco leaned against the frame, folding his arms against his chest. "How d'you like my new adverts, Potter? I know you don't wear y-fronts, but I'm certain the rest of the Wizarding World hasn't a clue. Anyway, I've decided to comp you a pair, just for being such a good sport." He unfolded his arms and allowed a pair of green cotton y-fronts to dangle from his fingertips. "We're out of blue, sold out this morning. But I think these would suit you better anyhow." His eyes sparked with amusement.

Harry began to splutter again, his face turning a dark shade of crimson. 

Ron was just as uneasy, and preparing for a brawl. He pushed up his shirt sleeves and raised a threatening fist.

Draco glanced at him with disinterest, and then focused his eyes back on Harry. "Well? How about it, Potter? If you don't like them, I'll gladly take you into my back room." Draco licked his lips lasciviously. "You can poke around until you find something that suits you."


	11. You Owe Me One

“I’d better let you get back to work,” Harry had told Ron.

 

“No, no, I can handle Malfoy by myself, really,” He’d promised.

 

“Won’t do a lick of good for the both of us to get fired for missing work on account of him. Besides, who’ll bail me out if I get arrested?” His reassuring smile had sealed the deal.

 

Ron had gone, grumbling, back to work. And Harry, well, Harry had gone to…er, poke about in Malfoy’s backroom, as it were. No sooner had the door closed behind them, than had Harry grabbed Draco by the shoulders and thrown him into the center of the room.

 

Draco tripped over a stack of boxed inventory and went sprawling backward into a pile of clothes and hangers, but somehow managed to make even that look graceful. Harry pounced on him, and there was a tangle of frenzied, grabbing limbs. Their mouths smashed together hard enough to leave bruises. The rake of teeth and fingernails on delicate skin left welts on both parties.

 

Draco couldn’t undress himself fast enough for Harry, who ripped at his clothes and sucked one patch of hot flesh into his mouth after another.

 

“When does this stop, you fuck-wit?” Harry growled, exposing his angry need and shoving his boxers and trousers down together.

 

“Oh, fuck…never…” Draco breathed, reaching for Harry.

 

“I mean it! I want you to stop baiting me like this!” Harry wrenched Draco’s thighs apart, and hooking his hands under the man’s knees, jerked him closer.

 

Draco cried out and arched his back off the floor, grabbing at the scraps of clothing beneath him for purchase as Harry pushed inside of him. Luckily, after the last round of dry, bare backing with Potter, he’d had the sense to prepare himself ahead of time. “It’s too good…too good,” He panted as Harry thrust.

 

“You cheeky slag,” Harry accused him, and increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts. He couldn’t help but watch as Draco snaked a hand down to stroke himself.

 

“More!” Draco writhed wantonly. “Give it to me…mmmm, oh, harder!”

 

Harry dug both fists into Draco’s hair and used the leverage to slam himself into the slick and sucking heat of Draco’s hole.

 

Draco fisted his own cock furiously, until he came with a howl that echoed off the store-room walls. His pleasure drove Harry’s release, who stifled the sound with a mouthful of Draco’s neck.

 

Harry caught his breath as he lay atop Draco, starbursts flashing off behind his eyelids like fireworks. He finally pulled away from Draco, managing to offer a sheepish look at the debauched model in doing so.

 

Draco winced at the loss, and the burning sensation that accompanied it. “Oh, fuck-all,” He scowled.

 

“What’s it going to take, Malfoy?” Harry asked softly, meeting steely grey eyes for a moment before looking away. “I don’t want to be defamed like this again. I could lose my job. What do you want- money?”

 

Draco snorted. “Hardly.” He fingered his loose and tender hole gingerly, then examined his fingertips. They came away with a smear of pearlescent fluid, tinged slightly pink.

 

“I hurt you?” Harry’s gut clenched suddenly at the thought.

 

Draco waved him away, and wiped his hand into the mess of clothing below him. “It's nothing.”

 

Harry looked stricken.

 

“You could make it up to me, if you like,” Draco drawled with a grin. He drew his knees together and held his hand out.

 

Harry took it and pulled him to his feet.“Name it.” 

 

Draco used the momentum to draw their bodies close together once more. Harry stiffened as Draco coyly curled his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and mumbled into the hollow of Harry's throat, causing his chest to rumble. “You could take me to dinner.”

 

“Dinner?” Harry repeated, numbly.

 

“I could even help you with your outfit…” Draco veritably purred. “I could…give you your own, personal, fashion show…” He lifted his face and revealed a cheeky grin.


	12. Dinner and a Show

"You are aware, of course, that this is a Muggle restaurant?" Draco lifted a slender eyebrow at Harry.

"Of course, I'm aware, you Ponce." Harry muttered, still holding the door open. "You're welcome to take yourself back home, if you like."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Draco eyed him suspiciously and went through the door for spite, and spite alone. "You owe me, Potter. And I plan on taking full advantage of that fact."

"One could say it was the other way around..." Harry argued, trailing after Draco to the hostess station. "Party of two, Potter." he then announced to her.

"Are you kidding me?" Draco exclaimed in a staged whisper, half turning and looking incredulously at Harry as he followed the hostess. "I can barely sit because of you, and I owe you something?"

"You nearly cost me my job, and tarnished my reputation!" Harry seethed through clenched teeth.

"Poor Golden-Boy," Draco crooned, and moved behind one chair. "Perhaps I should pull your chair for you, if you're going to keep on acting like such a girl..."

Harry glared and pulled his own chair out, flopping into it with a huff. He shoved one of the menus at Draco, who ignored it and plucked up the wine list instead.

"Do try not to wrinkle your suit," Draco prompted as he ferreted out the most expensive bottle on the list and pointed it out to their waiter. "It is on loan from Blackheart's, and although I daresay it is a much warrented improvement in your personal appearance, I will be needing it back at the end of the night..."

8=====>8=====>8=====>

"Enough with the theatrics, Malfoy."

"Whatever do you mean?" Draco smirked and lifted another spoonful of creme brulee to his mouth, delicately nibbling at the flamed sugar before taking a small, teasing mouthful of the custard, and licking the remaining from the spoon with his deft, pink, tongue.

"That. Stop doing that. Merlin, we've been here going on two hours, and the entire time you've done nothing but make lewd and exaggerated faces any time you put something even close to your mouth..." Harry scowled and dabbed his own lips, then moved his linen back into his lap, where he could use it to press down his erection inconspicuously. 

"If you're suggesting that I've an oral fixation..." Draco made flirtatious eyes across the table. He ran his index finger along the inner edge of the ramekin, scooping up the last of the creamy filling. He made a show of licking and sucking the custard off slowly, hollowing his cheeks and making a face of divine pleasure before popping the glistening digit out of his mouth. "I'm afraid you're spot on..." 

Harry licked his lips and flushed as he realized his eyes had been riveted to the blond model the entire evening.

"But, as I said when you picked me up for our little date," Draco began, smiling fiendishly.

"It's not a date," Harry interrupted.

"Tonight is about you, paying me back..." He reached across the table and ran the tip of his finger, still wet with spit, down over the center of Harry's lips and chin.

Harry should have been disgusted by that, but instead found himself wanting to grab Malfoy by the elbow and yank him across the table. He raised his own finger in the air and caught the eye of the waiter. "Check, please!"


	13. Rough and Ready

“Salazar! Potter…slow…jeeeze!...unh, yeah…Merlin’s pants!” Draco panted as he was pinned against the bedroom wall in his loft by Harry’s strong body. Harry was a frenzied mess of devouring kisses and groping fingers and rocking hips; his determination nearly drove Draco into the plaster.

 

“Fuck!” Draco exclaimed, shoving Harry back hard. 

 

Harry took two steps back and eyed Draco, even as his fingers started on the buttons of his borrowed shirt. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

 

“You’re like a bloody fucking animal, you know that?” He took a few deep breaths and smoothed a hand down the front of his own shirt.

 

“I thought that’s how you liked it…” Harry responded, jerking his shirt tails out of his trousers so that he could finish the job. He shrugged out of the shirt and let it fall to the floor.

 

Draco groaned softly, letting his eyes flicker over Harry’s muscular chest and toned abdomen. “Quite right,” He whispered. “Merlin, you hide that body in an office cubicle all day?” He came away from the wall and tucked his fingers into the front of Harry’s pants.

 

Harry grunted noncommittally and grabbed both of Draco’s slender wrists in one hand. He drew him back, pushing his arms against the wall over their heads.

 

“Potter!” Draco gasped, melting against the hard line of his body as Harry ground their hips together. “What- what’re you doing?”

 

“No more talking.” Harry admonished, using his free hand to force Draco’s head up and back so that he could suck and nibble a line down his neck. 

 

Draco whimpered in response and left Harry to his ministrations until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Nngh! Stop! You’re not supposed to….it’s too fast!…I’m going to…”

 

Harry released Draco’s hands in favor of grasping both hips, which he continued to thrust against despite Draco’s protestations.

 

Draco gave a small cry and curled his arms around Harry’s shoulders, shuddering as he rode out the waves of pleasure rolling through him. Finally, he slumped in Harry’s arms, gasping. “That…wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight, Potter.” His tone was only slightly bitter.

 

“That’s good,” Harry huffed. “Because I wasn’t quite finished.” He pulled Draco’s shirt up and over his head, not bothering with the buttons at all, and then he knelt carefully in front of Draco, slowly popping the button and lowering the zip of his trousers.

 

Draco’s face colored and he tried to push Harry back. “Don’t. I’ve gone and…just let me…” He summoned his wand and prepared to clean the spunk he’d deposited on the inside of his trousers.

 

Harry wrenched the wand out of his grasp and threw it aside, then tugged the fly apart more widely. Draco was still half hard when Harry nuzzled the inside of his thigh then turned his head, sucking the sticky flesh into his mouth.

 

“Fuck!” Draco gasped and tipped his hips forward. “That’s filthy…and brilliant, and…Good Godric, Potter!”

 

“It’s always a bloody narrative with you, isn’t it?” Harry questioned, tugging Draco’s trousers down around his thighs. He paused to pull Draco’s shoes off before taking his trousers down the rest of the way, leaving him in a pair of black dress socks.  
Then, he dragged one of Draco’s thighs up and over his shoulder.

 

“Potter!” Draco protested. “I can’t fuck with socks on!”

 

“It’s a good thing you’re not fucking, then.” Harry quipped, lowering his face to lap at and mouth Draco’s balls.

 

“Don’t you dare!” Draco hissed when Harry tried to pull his other leg up. His hands flung backward, scrabbling at the wall for purchase. “You’re going to kill me with a stunt like that!”

 

Harry snorted and pushed Draco’s first leg down, then turned him toward the bed. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

Draco sniffed and let himself be backed against the mattress, then flung down on top of it. “I’ve no desire to die at your hands, no matter the circumstances!”

 

“Not even with my tongue buried in your arse?” Harry suggested, shoving Draco’s thighs more widely apart as he crawled between them.

 

“What!?” Draco gasped, his muscles bunching at the first warm lick. Another swipe of that tongue had him nearly dissolving in the sheets. “Sweet Salazar Slytherin!”

 

“Change your mind?” Harry grinned cheekily, but his expression was lost on the writhing model beneath him.

 

“Fucking hell, Potter, don’t you dare stop! You owe me after what you….ohhh, Gods…yes!”

 

 

 

“Tell me why we hate each other again?” Draco breathed as he lay on the mattress, arms and legs flung widely apart as he watched Harry re-dress.

 

“Because you’re a sodding prat.” Harry smiled to himself.

 

“I’m certain it was the other way around…” Draco frowned then forced himself up on his elbows. “Hey! That suit belongs to Blackheart’s!”

 

Harry shrugged. “You sent it to my flat. What the hell else am I supposed to wear home?”

 

Draco fumbled for his wand, and with a flick, vanished the clothes right off Harry’s body. 

 

“Hey!” Harry protested with a frown.

 

“That’s not my problem,” Draco smirked devilishly and lay back, tucking his hands behind his head. “Now is it?”


	14. Rhinestone Cowboy

Harry had snuck past Blackheart's several times in the last half hour. He was trying to avoid blatantly standing and staring at the advertisement in the window. After months of being baited by scandalous photos, he was now utterly confused by the innocent poster in the window. He kept waiting for it to do something else, but it seemed as though there were no hidden tricks.

 

Blackheart's: We're always here when you need us. The poster promised, the script appearing as Draco, fully clothed and demure looking, crossed from one side of the ad to the other, trailing his fingers. He paused, looked up at the viewer with smoldering grey eyes, held one hand over his heart, and then moved out of sight. The poster faded to a silvery green, misty background and held for several moments before looping over again: Draco stepped out, looking nothing like the high-class, snobby twat Harry knew him to be. Instead, he seemed to be channeling the classic Muggle film star, James Dean, with his hair flicked up, a simple but crisp white t-shirt, and a pair of worn jeans. Over his far shoulder, he was holding a black leather jacket.

 

Well fuck-all. Harry either couldn't or wouldn't admit to himself that he was a bit disappointed with the ad...after all, he'd been expecting something to top the last travesty, although somewhere inside of him was releif that Draco had finally, finally fucking listened to him.

 

Although, there was no telling what sort of posters were hung inside the store...Harry would have to step inside to find out. Of course he would do that, in the name of self preservation of course. Not because Draco might be lingering there, waiting for him. That would be absurd. 

 

After the last poster aired, they'd fucked, and Harry had agreed to take Draco to dinner as resitution for making an utter mess out of his, er, backroom. But then, they'd fucked again, and Draco had stolen his clothes, and there was a resulting tussle...and more angry sex, capped off by Harry telling Draco once and for all to shape up and be respectable...

 

The door gave a cheery jangle as he entered, and the clerk gave him a knowing grin before hiding once more behind his magazine. Harry was stunned to find the advertisements posted all followed the classic style portrayed by the front poster, and all promoting Blackheart's upcoming fall line, which apparently was rife with cardigans, thick ribbed sweaters, and leather jackets. There was nothing risque or scandalous to be seen.

 

Harry couldn't hide his disappointment, and turned to leave, but paused at the fragrance counter at the last minute. Something earthy caught his nose, and he paused to find the bottle that had captured his attention. It was rustic and manly looking; green glass encased with a strip of rawhide, with the stock name branded into it: Rugged. He brought the bottle to his nose and inhaled, his senses suddenly over-run by the scent of leather and dirt, and faintly of musk. It was hyper-masculine, and it made something stir in his loins. He had half a mind to make the purchase, drench himself in the scent, and return home for a hasty wank. 

 

He aimed the bottle at himself, preparing to douse himself with the sample and save himself the cash, when he thought better of it. He lifted his head to find Draco standing not so far away, a telling smirk on his face. 

 

"I always knew you'd be a leather-man," Draco purred lowly. Harry tried to ignore him as he lifted his chin and stepped past. The earthy, musky, leather-y scent eminated from Draco and made Harry's prick tighten. Then, Draco's hand clamped down on Harry's forearm and he leaned into the man. "Care to guess what kind of pants I've got on today?"

 

"Merlin's beard..." Harry breathed and turned toward him. He'd been foiled again!


	15. A Little Green Monster

Harry glared across the dining room and twisted his fork in his hand, unaware that he was bending the tines out of place.

"Alright, mate?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's eyes for the third time since appetizers came. "What's bothering you?"

Harry gave another vicious twist to the silverware and ground out between his teeth, "Nothing."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione twisted in her seat, following Harry's gaze. "Malfoy? Is that what's got you so heated, Harry?" Hermione astutely figured him out, but Harry denied it with a shake of his head. "Oh, it is too!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know you were upset about that advert, Harry, but it's been months. Let the man have dinner with his boyfriend in peace."

"Boyfriend!" Harry leapt to his feet, startling the other diners in the restaurant.

Across the room, Draco finally looked up. He seemed surprised to see Harry, and then gave him a sneering, provocative smile before learning closer to his date, and kissing him full on the mouth.

With disgust, Harry threw down his napkin and fork, and stormed off to the mens room, waving Ron back with such a dark look that he sat back down without further ado.

Five minutes later, Draco sauntered into the mens and walked past Harry, who was rinsing his mouth out in the sink. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Draco continued into the far stall. Harry kicked the door open viciously.

"What is the meaning of...that, Malfoy!?" He demanded, waving his hand toward the restaurant.

Draco's back was to him as he stood at the toilet, and he shook himself slowly before turning to meet Harry's deadly gaze, his cock still in hand. "Of what, Potter?"

"Your little boyfriend." Harry sneered. "What the fuck is that?"

A smirk played across Draco's face, and then was gone. He tucked himself away with deliberation. "A boy has needs, Potter. And Marco fulfills them quite nicely- he's a model too. Pretty, isn't he? I thought I might use him in my next round of posters....But don't get any ideas, Malfoy's don't share."

Harry shoved Draco back against the wall, and Draco's breath caught in such a way that made Harry's prick hard. "Don't play with me, you know what I mean." he growled.

Draco's eyes darkened dangerously. He reached a hand up and pushed Harry away. "You had your chance. I can't wait forever, you know." He pulled out his wand, and Harry reached for his own, ready for a duel. But Draco just charmed his hands clean, and pushed past him on his way back out into the restaurant.

Harry was still blinking stupidly when the next gent came in.


	16. Promises, Promises

Draco is in a tailored black suit with a knitted, white cashmere scarf draped loosely several times around his neck. He is stalking across a drab, white background, his features a cross between furious and pouting. As he gets nearer, he whips his wand out of the inner pocket of his blazer and points it straight ahead. The poster fades to black, with the word "Blackheart's" standing out in blocky white relief. Then Draco's silhouette passes through each letter before the advert grows bright white again, and Draco's form is reset, far away.

 

Harry actually flinched the first tine the wand whipped at him. He could almmost feelDraco's anger radiating off the ad. It made his cock hard, reliving the tenuous moments that they'd recently shared. Merlin, that was some bloody marvellous modelling. He smiled in relief to see that Marco hadn't shared Draco's photoshoot, although it had been rumored that this most recent 'Hot Couple' we scheduled to do so. Maybe they were on the outs, and Harry had another chance to...to...he paused with his hand on the door. Merlin, was he really going to admit that he wanted Draco? For more than just sex? Did he, or did he just not want Draco slumming around with other blokes. You can't expect him not to...if you aren't... a voice in his head reasoned. Oy, fuck, shut it! he groaned at himself.

 

A hard voice interrupted Harry's thoughts. When he'd pushed through the door and entered the shop was beyond him. "Get out, Potter. After that last stunt you pulled, you're not welcome here anymore."

 

Harry jerked and looked up, meeting Draco's icy glare. "What stunt?"

 

"I may be a model, but I'm not an idiot, Potter." Draco began angrilly refolding a stack of sweaters as he stood behind the counter. "You expect me to believe it was coincidence that Marco came down with Spattergroit the day before our photoshoot?"

 

"He...he did?" Harry tried to keep the glee out of his voice and hoped his honest puzzlement shone through instead.

 

"Yeah." Draco stacked the sweaters and emerged from the counter, heading toward a display. "But you already knew that. I can't believe The Noble Gryffindor would do something as nasty as sabotage. Spattergroit can be deadly if you get it as an adult, Potter. But a Muggle-born like you wouldn't know that, would they? Just like you to nearly kill a wizard in a fit of jealous rage. You're lucky Marco only got a mild case and I'm not going to turn you in. As long as you get your arse out of my shop and never come back."

 

"Wait!" Harry held up his hands defensively. "I didn't! I wouldn't!"

 

"Right." Draco stormed back to the counter and turned his attention to trousers next. "Just leave,"

 

"But I...Malfoy, I swear, I didn't. How could I even...Spattergroit isn't even a hex. It's a..." he thought a moment. "A fungus, isn't it? How could I have given your boyfriend Spattergroit? I don't even know where he lives. Merlin. I admit, I was jealous, but I would never do something like that."

 

"No?" Draco countered snidely. He refused to let his eyes meet with Harry's.

 

"No." Harry said softly. "Malfoy...Draco...come on. I just came in here to..."

 

"To what?" Draco snapped, pushing the trousers in his hand down against the growing pile of folded ones.

 

"I don't know!" Harry lamented. "I...I find myself insanely attracted to you. And I...you said Marco was going to be in your next photo shoot, and then he wasn't, and I thought maybe...hoped that you were available to...for...I, er..." Harry ruffled his hair sheepishly.

 

"Out with it, or show yourself the door." Draco said plainly as he resumed folding.

 

"Fuck, you make me so hard. Everything you do, I just want to shag the snot out of you,"

 

"Oh, that is such a sexy picture," Draco snarked under his breath.

 

Harry continued. "But then I saw you in the restaurant with that other bloke, and you kissed him, and I just felt, llike, 'No! He's mine!' er, I mean, you. You're mine. Er, I want you to be mine. I don't want someone elses hands all over you. I er, guess, I...want us to be exclusive. You and me. I don't want to, er, share." Harry said dumbly.

 

"And I told you, Potter, that I am sick to death of waiting for you to do something other than show up and act like a Neanderthal. I am a Malfoy. I have needs and wants, more or less the same thing, and they involve having a social life. Dinner, nightclubs, soirees, political events, being seen in public. Flowers, candy, gifts..." He waved his hand to indicate the list went on in a similar fashion. "I am not some secret fuck-toy to be used when it is convenient for you. I want something tangible, open, and I don't give a damn if you think being seen with me is going to tarnish your reputation, you bloody ponce. I--"

 

Harry was listening, he really was. But he was also mesmerized by the pink wetness of Draco's mouth, and the way his eyes flashed, and his hands waved animatedly. His posture, his cologne, the curve if his arse in those deliciously tight denims...Harry reached over the counter, gripped Draco's forearm, and pulled him flush against it. Before Draco could protest, he fixed their mouths together.

 

Draco broke away after some time, flushed and panting. "That is exactly what I mean about you being a Neanderthal!" He hissed.

 

"Baby, you break it off with your spotty, spattergroitted, model boyfriend, and I'll let you take me anywhere you want, whenever you want. On a leash." Harry ammended.

 

Draco's look went from shocked to amused, and his lips curled. "For that, Mr. Potter, you have a deal."


	17. My Word is My Bondage

"Like a puppy! I said, leashed like a puppy!" Harry argued when, on the set of the photoshoot, Draco produced a black, spiked leather collar and a thin lead of medium length. It was meant to compliment the black leather vest and trousers that Harry had practically been spelled into.

Draco's smirk deepened and he stopped picking invisible lint from his crisp, white button-down shirt. "Actually, Potter, that is not what you said, as a matter of fact. You said, and I quote, ' I'll let you take me anywhere you want, whenever you want. On a leash'. I believe that was the bargain for leaving Marco," Draco smoothed down the front of his grey-pinstriped vest and preened a moment as he caught his own reflection in an off-set mirror. Then he turned back to Harry, dangling the collar again, from his fingertips. "And you can thank Pansy. I did give her artistic license."

Harry crossed his arms and shook his head. "Nuh unh. That was a, er, metaphor. If you're too thick to understand that-"

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. "I hope you are not implying that I am no more than a pretty shell, Potter. Because if I am brainless, that leaves you in quite the sorry state, indeed."

Harry flushed and mumbled under his breath, even as he half turned away from Draco and the proferred collar.

"Are you, or are you not a man of your word?" Draco's icy-blond brow lifted delicately.

"I am, but-" Harry began to argue.

"But nothing." Draco dismissed him. "If you are, then you'll wear it. And if not here and now, for a photoshoot, which is clearly not based in any semblance of reality, then tomorrow afternoon, for a jaunty stroll down Diagon Alley."

Harry snorted.

Draco shrugged and feigned a yawn, hoisted the collar and leash over one shoulder. He had the nerve to look bored.  
"Such is the price of having me. You did say you wanted me, didn't you?"

"You know I want you, you bloody wanker. You're really going to make me-"

Draco lifted his brow again.

"Of course you are. Tosser. You realize what kind of media frenzy this is going to-"

Draco tipped his head knowingly and smirked.

"Right." Harry cast a heavy sigh, then shook off his slump and reached for the collar.

A clipped noise emitted from Draco's throat as he grinned triumphantly and held the effects out of reach. "Do allow me," he veritably purred.

"Sod off," Harry grumbled, but obligingly stepped forward and lifted his chin.

Draco's long, cool fingers stroked Harry's neck gently before fastening the circlet of leather there. While Harry was swallowing compulsively and adjusting to the kid-soft but foreign sensation of constriction, Draco clipped the leash on and tugged him closer. "And the world will know that you are mine, Harry Potter." He nipped Harry's lips playfully, and Harry growled, grabbing Draco's wrists.

"I may be the one in bondage gear here, but no one for a second would believe that you're topping me!" He wrestled Draco to the floor and knelt over him, pinning the wriggling model to the ground and plundering his mouth in return. Draco yanked at Harry's lead with one hand and curled the other around the back of his neck, arching up into him. He groaned just as a series of flashes went off, and two men broke apart, gasping. Draco leveled his glare at Pansy, who was looking rather proud of herself.

"Well, boys, we haven't officially started shooting, and I think I've got the money shot already. But by all means, don't let me stop you." She gestured with her hand that they should continue, and her grin grew wider as two sets of fingers flicked at her. "Now, I'll just need a good catch phrase for all that sex appeal."


	18. Shot Through The Heart

Tops and Bottoms, whatever your preference, we've got them. Always In Style, at Blackheart's. Harry groaned aloud in his office as he unrolled the advertisement proofs, owled, hot off the presses to him by Draco. Draco, who, in the advert, sat in a straightbacked chair and dragged a reluctant Harry on all fours, toward him across the slick, shiny floor, wrapping the slackening end of the leash around his hand as he did so. At the end of his leash, Harry jerked Draco up, tumbling the chair over as he pushed him against the wall. The shot panned closer, to just their faces, as Harry braced his hands on either side of Draco's head, and Draco tipped his face up, lips parting...just in time for the slogan to insert itself. "Storefront." Draco had scrawled in red across the bottom of the pic.

 

Harry turned the first picture over, palming his face before allowing himself to appraise the second, third, and fourth shots. The second, when he allowed himself to look, was not so bad. A haughty looking Draco with one finger crooked through the ring in Harry's collar, their faces close again, but in this one, Harry looking smug with his head tipped slightly back, eyes locked with Draco's. "Some things are meant to be yours," The poster promised.

 

"Begging to be bought," The third poster alluded in between two scenes: The first was a shirtless Harry, leather-clad arse hovering centimeters from the floor as he knelt with wide-spread knees, white-knuckled grip buried in the spare fabric of (Draco's) trousers, the picture cut him off just below the waist. The second scene displayed the top half of a pensive-looking Draco, eyes cast downward. One hand gripped the opposing elbow, and that arm was tipped up, casually slinging his grey-pinstriped vest overone shoulder.

 

"Sweet fucking Merlin," Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He flipped the advert over on top of the first two, and stared, stared at the last shot. It was actually among the first shots that Pansy had taken, before Harry allowed himself to be posed and prodded and goaded into the scenes that were going to ruin his career and credibility. The poster was pure, animalistic lust. Harry and Draco arching and griding against one another, lips flattening as their mouths locked together. If Harry hadn't already been hard from the first three pics, that shot alone would have done it. "For your personal collection," Draco had scrawled on the back. Harry's mouth tipped up at the corners and he licked his lips. Personal, indeed. He cast a Tempus, and tried to roughly calculate how much time he had until lunch.

 

"Oi, you! Got time for lunch, mate?" A jovial voice called as the door swung open, causing Harry to jolt. Belatedly, he swept the glossy prints into his top drawer, which shut with a pronounced bang. "Jesus, Ron." He breathed, glancing up with a guilty look on his face. "Knock, would you?"

 

 

 

Harry donned the blazer and shirt and trousers that Draco sent him eary in the afternoon, along with a tie and a note about reservations at eight, at some new restaurant that Harry couldn't pronounce the name of. He stuffed the tie in his pocket after trying-and failing- to knot it properly, distracted as he replayed the conversation he was going to have with Draco in his head. He was determined to rescind his permission to print those scandalous photos. It was one occasion that he was actually glad that his mother was dead, because he would never have to suffer the embarassment of her seeing him like that.

 

"Malfoy, I...." Harry blurted, even as he allowed Draco to accost him in the middle of Blackhearts, which was dim and empty save the two of them. 

 

Draco planted a messy kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth, then held him at arms length to assess his outfit. His lips pursed momentarily, then held his hand out. "We cannot be seated without your tie, you miscreant." Harry handed it over without hesitation and Draco set about fixing him up. "Stop chewing your lips, they'll dry out and flake," Draco reprimanded him as he pushed up the knot and settled it into place. He pinched Harry's cheeks until his lips pursed, then kissed him again briefly. "And then I'll have no one to kiss me goodnight."

 

"Malfoy, I-" Harry tried again.

 

"Hush, we'll be late. Unfashionably late." Draco latched on to Harry's arm.

 

Harry's growl of "Damnit, Draco!" stopped him just before he Disapparated them both. He stepped away and frowned. "What is it, Harry?"

 

"I can't do this."

 

Draco quirked a brow. "Dinner? Why not? Did you have a late lunch? We had an agreement."

 

"No, no. Dinner's fine." He huffed. "The ads, I can't do the ads."

 

Instead of Draco's eyes narrowing like Harry thought they would, they alit with amusement instead. "Of course you can. Here. I nearly forgot." He turned, bending way over the countertop, giving Harry a spectacular view of his spectacular arse. He surfaced with a crisp white envelope and handed it to Harry.

 

Harry's eyes grew round as saucers as he examined the check inside. "What's this for?" his voice came as a whisper.

 

"Your payment for the photos." Draco said flippantly. 

 

"You can't buy me," Harry stammered unconvincingly, and stuffed the check back into the envelope as he tried to hand it back..

 

"I'm not buying your favor, you idiot. That's payment for modelling. And it's not even half of what I make." He folded the envelope neatly in half and tucked it into Harry's inner blazer pocket. "And if these ads sell like I think they will, I might even give you some commission. That's your guranteed rate, anyway, if you ever want to model again," Draco pulled Harry against him by the lapels and playfully nipped his lips, then pressed their hips together. "And I would, if I were you, because it makes me so damned hot..." he mumbled into Harry's mouth and Harry moaned softly. Draco smirked and pulled away, straightening both of their suits. "Now, what were you saying?"

 

Harry gulped and shook his head. With that kind of bill, he could afford to lose his job at the ministry. "N-nothing. Let's eat."

 

Draco's smile broadened into a grin. He slapped Harry's cheek none-too-lightly. "Atta boy."


	19. The Liar, The Shift and The Mannequin

Draco had actually turned down a date with Harry in favor of pulling a late shift at Blackhearts. At first, Harry had been a little put off but then decided that the best way to get Draco to put out was to surprise him by showing up with a well packed picinic basket and a bottle of wine to share.

Harry unlocked the back door with a flick of his wrist and snuck in to Blackhearts through the back room, smiling fondly as he remembered all the sexual acts the two of them had gotten up to in there since getting together. He carried his basket carefully so that the contents wouldn't rattle and alert the testy model to his presence.

On the main floor, Draco was changing the clothing on one of the mannequins. Harry slowed to a stop and watched, mesmerized by the deft, sure movements Draco's fingers made. He took the buttons of the shirt down from collar to hem, then pushed the lapels apart, smoothing his hands over the synthetic muscled form, forcing the sleeves down around the biceps. Humming softly, Draco shifted and pulled the bunched material down past each wrist, letting the shirt whisper to the floor. Then, Draco's hands worked open the belt buckle and it slid from the loops on the trousers with a subtle hiss.

Harry didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he had to suck in a lungful of air. Draco was sexy while he worked, especially when said work involved stripping the clothes off of a fit, albeit headless, dummy. Harry watched Draco knelt to take the trousers down carefully as if from a living lover.

The mannequin was now naked, and Draco slide his fingers over the legs, up to the thighs and around the hips. Draco moved closer, pressing his body nearer to the form and stroked it's back. Harry's breath quickened. He didn't know what the fuck Draco was doing or why. Molesting a mannequin? It didn't matter. Draco was a sensual being, and Harry apparently, was a pervert because watching him in action was turning him on.

Draco slid one knee between the mannequin's legs and pulled it flush against him, using his weight to tip it slightly backward. The two of them dipped as if dancing and his arms shifted, one around the shoulders, the other cupping the buttocks. 

Harry crouched to place the wine carefully on the floor, freeing one hand to stroke his erection through his pants. He continued to watch as Draco righted the figure, running his hands over the torso again, down to the suggestive and generous bulge between his legs. Draco's fingers began to move faster and faster, and Harry's hand mimicked the movements on his own prick until without warning, he came with a strangled cry.

Draco turned with a triumphant grin on his face. "You fucking deviant!" He crossed to Harry and jerked him closer, planting a kiss on his lips. 

Harry spluttered, his face hot and burning. "Me? You're the one who just jacked off a mannequin!"

"Because I knew you were watching, you twat! I wanted to see how far you would let me go without announcing yourself. Why didn't you announce yourself?"

"How did you know I was here?" Harry asked incredulously and squirmed as he denims clung wetly to his softening prick..

Draco smirked and ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "The alarm sounded when you breeched the wards, you lumbered through the backroom like an ogre, and you have a tell-tale whimper when you touch yourself."

"I do not whimper when I touch myself!" Harry protested, unzipping his pants and tugging the damp and sticky fabric away from himself.

Draco shrugged dismissively and leaned away from Harry, snagging the bottle of wine by the cork. His fingers curled around the neck and began to stroke. 

"W-what are you doing?" Harry whispered.

Draco eyed Harry's crotch then tilted the bottle to his lips, flattening his tongue as he licked around the rim and down the neck, moaning suggestively.

Harry's hand shifted back to his prick. As Draco continued to fellate the bottle, Harry bit his lip then, whimpered.


	20. Eenie, Meanie, Miny, Mick, we'll pick the adverts with your...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Enchanted_Jae!

Draco was sequestered in his office, leaning over the desk, weight braced on his arms as he poured over the proofs from the latest photoshoot. He had been in there for hours already and Harry had excused himself under the guise of needing coffee. It was either that or go spare from boredom.

Harry returned and placed the take-away cups and a bag of pastries on top of a filing cabinet before sidling up behind Draco, fitting their hips together and rutting gently. He could hardly resist the allure of Draco's fit backside and leaned over to nibble Draco's neck lightly, hoping to distract him from his work. 

Draco waved his hand, swatting Harry away as if he were a house fly. "I've got to get these adverts done..."

"I know, love. But you've been at it for hours. I brought you some treats- you should take a break." Harry caressed Draco's hips with his palms and tried to steer him away from the desk.

Draco's back end twitched away from Harry and his eyes flicked up in annoyance. "Says the man whose livelihood doesn't depend on successful marketing schemes...I don't know. I don't think I like Pansy's theme this month. And these pics are all over the place!" Draco straightened, shovelling his hand through his hair.

Harry perched on the edge of the desk, carefully keeping away from the prints. "I like this one," he said helpfully and pointed to one featuring Draco in spiked hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He was wearing fitted plaid pants, a crisp white button-up with a green bowtie, and was sprawled on a desk, chewing on the end of a quill. It was very nerd-chic, and it made Harry want to debauch Draco in the worst way.

Draco rolled his eyes and pointed to one of Harry, shirtless beneath a blazer and loosening his neck tie with a few jerks. "That one is much sexier."

"Says you," Harry smirked, thinking there was hope for distracting his lover yet. He blinked up innocently at Draco and lied through his teeth, "It doesn't always have to be about sex, you know."

"Sex sells," Draco drawled, turning his attention back to his desk and considering another shot in which a woman's hand - (Pansy's) grabbed hold of Draco's tie and drew him, through a series of rough tugs, off the screen. It was followed by the clothes Draco had been wearing tossed back into the shot one by one.

"They're all brilliant," Harry said, taking the picture from Draco and throwing it with the others before pulling Draco into his arms. He peppered Draco's face and neck with kisses. "They will all draw the clientelle in with their charm. Who can resist sexy guys in ties? What you really need is to take your mind off things for awhile..."

"In other words, your broomstick needs waxing...Damn it, Harry!" Draco easily saw through Harry's facade and scowled. It probably didn't help at all that Harry's raging hard-on was poking it's way across Draco's thigh, leaving damp prints in it's wake. "I have got to figure out the best way to handle these ties, and I can't do that if I stop thinking about them!"

"If you say the word "ties" to me one more time..." Harry threatened, tightening his grip on Draco's wrists.

"You'll what?" Draco sneered.

"I'll...I'll...." Harry stammered as he glanced around the roomm, trying to think of something appropriate to keep Draco in line. "I'll show you what I think your line of ties is really good for!"

Draco smirked as though he thought Harry wouldn't follow through. "If you don't mind, Harry, I've got a business to run. So why don't you just find something else to do and when I'm done sending these tie adverts off to the printer, I'll owl you."

"Now you've done it," Harry sighed.

"Ties," Draco rolled his eyes. "Ties, ties, ties. Now go on, I'm busy, I mean it." He tugged one hand free of Harry's grip and flapped it at him impatiently.

Harry reached up and began to un-knot the simple black tie that Draco was currently wearing.

"Stop it, what are you doing?" Draco protested as Harry pulled it free from his neck.

Harry pulled Draco's wrists together and looped the tie around them, then cinched them together with a tight knot.

"You can't do that with that one, Harry, that's a silk tie, are you listening to me? You're going to ruin in, don't you dare-!"

Harry bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and tied another knot ontop of the first, binding Draco's arms securely. He tugged him around the desk with one hand while fishing his wand out of it's holster with the other. Draco was still babbling, something about keeping off the desk and ruining the prints and Pansy's hard work. But Harry wasn't listening. He was too busy spelling the clothes off of Draco's back and making sure the tie held Draco's arms in the air but gave him enough slack for his feet to touch the ground.

There was lube in Draco's top drawer of his desk, and Harry used it generously as he prepared Draco for his cock. Soon, Draco was twisting in his bonds and moaning. When Harry could control himself no longer, he lined himself up with Draco's glistening hole and plunged inside. He used the hand still sticky with lube to stroke Draco's straining prick.

Despite Draco's initial protests, he was soon shouting along with his release. Harry pumped his fist and hips harder, milking all of Draco's come from him before spending himself into Draco's still-clenching arse. Draco sagged against him and caught his breath for a few moments. Harry was still buried balls deep and catching his breath when Draco made a strangled sound of dismay.

"You got come all over the proofs!"

Harry looked over Draco's shoulder to see Draco's spunk splattered on four of the eight glossy prints and grinned. "No, you got come all over the proofs. But look on the bright side- at least you don't have to worry anymore about deciding which ones to send off to the printer!"


	21. Shades of red and purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @geinahop

"No." Harry frowned and folded his arms over his chest.

"What do you mean, no?" Draco asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I mean, no bloody fucking way and I doing a photoshoot naked, with Viktor Sodding Krum and seven other models." Harry clarified, turning his back on Draco.

"Five. Five other models." Draco said. "And the autumnal theme is 'layers'. Don't you see? It's brilliant!"

"I don't give a fig how brilliant it is. I said no. It's a career-killer."

"Krum doesn't think it's a career-killer. In fact, he's agreed to do it for free. The publicity alone, he says, is worth it." Draco laced his fingers together behind his head and smirked.

"Krum is an aging Quidditch player with a bum shoulder and nothing to lose!" Harry snarled.

"And you're a former celebrity with a killer body, wilting in a Ministry cubicle." Draco snapped upright. "It's a waste!"

"What part of 'no' didn't you understand?" Harry asked as he moved toward the door.

"Fine!" Draco flipped open his leger and began running his finger through it. "I'll just have to find another dark-haired model for your spot. Maybe Marco is available."

Harry's jaws ground together and he spun around. "You had better find another fae-blond to boot, because you're not doing the shoot either!"

Draco's glare was icy. "Just try and stop me. This is my business and I'll run it as I see fit!"

"I am not about to sit back and allow a bunch of randy Adonises paw at and rub all over you while Parkinson snaps pictures!" Harry growled and stalked toward Draco. Harry grabbed him roughly, possessively.

"It's entirely professional, I assure you!" Draco stammered, his cheeks flooding with color.

"Professional, my arse!" Harry backed Draco against the desk and Draco leaned against the edge while Harry ran his hands over Draco's torso and hips. He was already efficiently tugging Draco from his suit-clothes. "You're irresistible...no one can keep their hands off of you. You're mine and I'll mark you if I have to..." Harry threatened.

Draco shuddered and gripped Harry's lapels. "Do what you have to, I'm still doing the shoot..."

A snarl escaped Harry and he lowered his head, biting Draco's collarbone. Draco cried out as he arched against Harry, the familiar cycle of painpleasure building between them again.......

\---------

 

Harry stood in front of Blackheart's with his fingers clenched into fists. The new advert, "Fall Layers" was in the window. Harry had never seen the proofs, despite having finally acquiesced to Draco's demands of modelling.

Two very Dark-skinned, fully clothed models served as bookends for the group, crisp white button-downs a bright contrast against the neutral grey background and muted-tone trousers. They were succeeded by two olive-skinned models in jewel-toned trousers only. Harry and Krum followed, clad only in tight boxer-briefs. Draco was dead center and stark-naked, a multitude of visible red-purple passion marks and love-bites speckled across Draco's otherwise perfectly pale torso.

There was no doubt that it was a visually stunning piece, especially when Harry snarled at Krum then hooked his hand around Draco's neck, pulling him in for a bruising kiss that was full of teeth. What he hadn't seen when it happened was the way Krum's fingers curled around Draco's hips, pulling them back against his pelvis.

In Harry's back pocket was a sealed, official Ministry scroll. He was willing to wager it was his dismissal, having seen this. 

The bigger problem was, he didn't know what course of action to take first: beg for his job back, rage at Draco, or pummel Krum. The last option seemed the best way to dispel his feelings about the former two. But it also seemed like a good way to land himself in even deeper trouble with the Ministry.

He sucked in a breath, deciding that he would let the other adverts inside the shop make his decision for him. Harry was not prepared for what he saw after pushing through the door. Draco and Krum were exiting Draco's office, and Krum's arm was slung around his shoulder. Krum looked satisfied, Draco guilty, and Harry's vision clouded red.


	22. Mad Men

   
   
   
The newest Blackheart's advert had been up for a matter of hours and Draco had already received a ridiculous amount of correspondance, including one from a reputable designer in France. They'd requested a one time modelling contract with Draco, Harry and Krum, but there was a possibility for more, and perhaps even another shop location abroad.

Draco had promised Harry that he wouldn't work with Viktor again, but this was an opportunity too large to pass up. It meant fame and fortunes beyond the Malfoy inheritance, and financial security should his endeavors lead to his disinheritance. He'd arranged an impromptu meeting with Krum first thing in the morning, and of course, Krum was on board. Having two thirds of the party signed on meant maybe he could talk Harry into it, but he still felt guilty about going behind Harry's back in order to do it.

The bell jangled as they were exiting the office. He glanced up to find Harry standing there, his face purpling with obvious fury. Draco spared a glance at Krum, who had his arm slung around Draco's shoulder in comraderie. In an instant, he had shrugged the athlete's arm off.

   
"Harry." Draco implored. Merlin, now was not the time for this. Potter was a neanderthal in the best of times, and this was not shaping up to be the best of times.

Harry was fumbling for his wand in his hip holster and glaring. Finally, he managed to wrench it free and pointed it at them

"Krum, I'll have Pansy get in touch with your agent.I do thank you for your time." Draco shoved Krum toward the door. "Harry, put your wand away."

"Fine."  Harry threw his wand at Draco and began rolling up his sleeves.  "I'll do this the old-fashioned way."

Krum held up his hands as he backed toward the door.  "I think there is a confusion." He said with a frown.

"Yes." Harry agreed, and stalked toward Krum.  He easily broke through the barrier of Krum's hands and grabbed the lapels of his shirt.  "There does seem to be a misunderstanding.  Let me simplify it for you.  Your hands.  My boyfriend.  Never again."

"Oh, Mother of Merlin in Manchester!"  Draco rolled his eyes and neatly inserted his slighter frame between the two wizards, staring eachother down. He pushed his back against Harry's torso while prying at his fingers until Harry took one step back.  When he dug his heels in and shoved, Harry took another.  Draco turned then, finding that Harry's eyes were still locked with Krum's. Harry growled menacingly as his biceps bunched under Draco's hands.  Draco slapped Harry's arm, and none too lightly either.  "Harry, stop it, you transparent Ponce....nothing happened."

"My arse!" Harry said, taking a step toward Viktor once more.

Draco curled his hand around the nape of Harry's neck, jerking them closer.  "I may be of questionable character, but I can assure you that I would not tolerate an assault on my virtue and I take fidelity very seriously."

Harry's eyes flickered toward Draco, then back to Krum.  Draco pressed their foreheads together, sighing as he flung his hand at Viktor, commanding, "Leave it, Harry.  Krum, go!"

Viktor pushed the door open and stepped through it, turning at the last minute.  "But zee contract-"

"Just go!" Draco said.  The bell jangled as the door slammed shut and Draco watched Harry's eyes follow Krum up the street.

"The advert...he touched you..." Harry said, his body stiffening again as he thought of it.

"Magical manipulation," Draco explained, smoothing his hands through Harry's hair and down his back. "You have every right to be angry with Pansy. If you like, we can Floo-call her now....or, we can go into the back room and work this out. What did you prefer?"

The wild look in Harry's eyes shifted. "Backroom," he grunted, already pushing Draco in that direction. Thankfully, Harry was as easily distracted as he was riled.

Draco jumped up, curling his legs around Harry's waist and letting himself be carried. Harry was emotionally charged and had something to prove. It would be a shame to waste it. He reached for his wand and with a flick of his wrist, locked the door and turned down the lights. The customers would just have to wait.


End file.
